


In my secret life

by desade1970



Category: The Borgias, The Borgias (2011)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-15
Updated: 2013-12-15
Packaged: 2018-01-04 17:42:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1083821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/desade1970/pseuds/desade1970
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Takes place in the aftermath of Alfonso d'Aragonas murder. CB's reflections on the impact those events had on his relationship to Lucrezia.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In my secret life

**Author's Note:**

  * For [50251sid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/50251sid/gifts).



They say I started wearing those masks to hide my scarred face, to hide those hideous marks of the French disease. But we all wear masks in life. We hide behind masks to keep off our enemies. We hide behind them from ourselves and we even wear masks for those we love most. 

This is what I have learned because I am guilty of high treason. I have sinned against myself, our love, and more than anything else I have sinned against you.  
The first day I visited you after Alfonso’s funeral I took 100 armed forces to protect me. The Roman streets were very unsafe at that time, of course. In the wake of this murder any vermin called Roman nobility felt the urge to crawl out of their hiding holes trying to get rid of me. But this is not why I surrounded myself with those guards. 

Nobody ever did question my courage. Not even my enemies. But only I know they are all wrong. I was scared then. Scared of myself and what I was capable of but even more so scared of you. Scared of what you would do to me. And you had any right of the world to scream for justice and mete out my punishment. 

Those men were completely useless, of course. You don’t fight with crossbow and sword. Your weapons are different ones. And more deadly than those of us men. Looking at you was devastating. This is what I had done to you. I who had always secretly prided himself of loving you than no other. I had marred your face with grief almost beyond recognition. I had done this to you. To put things right: I still cannot feel any remorse in regard to killing Alfonso. But I can feel grief at the thought of what his death meant to you. 

You became my judge and my executioner killing me with kindness. You forgave me. But your forgiveness came at a high price. The only way of keeping your love was releasing you to independence. To a life independent of me. To a life apart from me. The only way of keeping your love was cutting into my own flesh, carving out the person called Lucrezia and let go of you. 

I am left behind – remaining a prisoner of our love. I cannot be with you but I cannot be without you either. Your letters show that you have recovered. Not fully, though. And there are hints that you feel the same. That you still can feel the same after all that happened. There lies some kind of selfish solace in there. 

They say I started wearing those masks to hide my scarred face, to hide those hideous marks of the French disease. But they are all wrong. I wear them because I am in mourning.

**Author's Note:**

> My special thanks to 50251sid who inspired me and Leonard Cohen who gave the title to this fic. Sorry for the grammar.


End file.
